A Single Ray of Light
by Miss Pookamonga
Summary: In the end, it's the little things that change your destiny. A series of oneshots exploring the development of Helen & Nikola's relationship following the events of "Sleepers."
1. Solace

_Dear Readers,_

_Because my shippy plotbunnies reproduce at a ridiculously fast rate, and because Amanda Tapping just _had_ to say that Helen apparently "absolutely_ _adores and loves" Nikola, I think it is necessary for me to write this lest the fanfiction category for this fandom becomes overrun with too many random oneshots. Instead of posting every oneshot born out of the squee-ness that was "Sleepers" individually, I am compiling (most) of them into this fic, which will essentially be a series of oneshots exploring the gradual development of Helen and Nikola's relationship following the events of the episode. Each oneshot will not necessarily be directly related, but they will progress chronologically. This first one takes place just a few hours after the last scene of "Sleepers." I hope you enjoy :) _

_Best regards from a Bookworm (and hopelessly obsessed Tesla fangirl),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P _

_PS: Happy New Year! I have officially been a _Sanctuary _fan for a whole year now. Yay!

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**A Single Ray of Light**

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_**"A single ray of light from a distant star falling upon the eye of a tyrant in bygone times may have altered the course of his life, may have changed the destiny of nations, may have transformed the surface of the globe, so intricate, so inconceivably complex are the processes in Nature ...**** the energy of a single thought may determine the motion of a universe."**_

_**~Nikola Tesla, 1893

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**I. Solace**

She watches him sleep, his head resting against the back of the couch, and his face half-nestled in her hair. She restrains herself from chuckling aloud at that—he has always had a terrible aversion to touching other people's hair, and yet here he is, his face buried in hers.

But then again, he has never really seen her as just another person.

The thought brings back the memory of their little escapade in Rome, of the moment when he admitted his love for her. She remembers the soft way he whispered that confession, the way his eyes tenderly regarded her, the way he tentatively reached out his hand to almost brush his fingers against her cheek. The reverie alone is enough to cause her breath to hitch in her throat and her heart to pound more heavily against her ribcage. She is especially captivated by the memory of his eyes—half-lidded as if in a trance, the white light in the tunnel reflecting off the brilliant blue of his irises as they slowly looked her over. There had been times, back at Oxford and back during her various visits to him over the years following, when he had looked at her that way and she had felt something stirring between them, something she had never quite understood or had paid enough attention to. Something in the back of her mind had always told her that Nikola Tesla did indeed love her—perhaps even more passionately than John had first appeared to—but for some reason she had always pushed the thought away. Perhaps she had been afraid of entertaining the notion that she might actually reciprocate his feelings, had been afraid of being hurt again.

But whatever her fears were in the past, they have dissipated. Now, her fears are the exact opposite: she is terrified of _not _loving him, of hurting _him _by turning him away.

Her eyes drift to his stomach, rising and falling steadily with each breath. She feels the stab of pain at the haunting realization that his breaths are so much more numbered now, that she will lose him so much more quickly than she ever anticipated. And suddenly, she wants to do nothing more than wrap her arms tightly around him and hold him close to her, as if that alone can keep time from stealing him away. She lifts a hand to his cheek and rubs her thumb gently against the corner of his mouth, biting back tears. She can't lose him. Not now. Not when they are suddenly so close again, like they had been at Oxford all those years ago, before The Five. Not when they are suddenly closer than they have ever been in all the time that they've known each other.

The stroking of her thumb and her quiet sniffling wake him abruptly and he blinks his eyes in surprise at finding himself leaning against Helen Magnus.

"Helen?"

She smiles softly at him. "Yes, it's me," she whispers.

His face relaxes. "We fell asleep."

"Yes, we did."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Then—

"What time is it?"

She snuggles in closer to his warm body. "Does it matter?"

She can tell by the way his eyes flicker at her movement that he's startled, but the expression softens when he realizes that she isn't going to move away. "No. No, I suppose not," he finally answers as she decides to shift even closer.

She lifts her legs up and curls them underneath her before trailing the hand on his cheek down his neck to rest on his chest. A tiny smile tugs at her lips as she feels him shudder beneath her fingers. Silently, she leans her head forward until it too is resting upon his chest, and she nuzzles her nose into the spot below his throat where his collar is now open.

She can hear the thumping of his heart accelerate as he raises his arms to hold her gently against him. He pulls her closer and then dips his chin down to bury his nose into her curls, moving his face downward until his lips just barely brush against her ear. A delightful shiver ripples through her body at the sensation, and she can feel him smile in response as he leans his lips closer to her skin.

She thinks for a moment that he is going to whisper something to her, but he doesn't and instead just places a soft kiss behind her ear before leaning his cheek against her hair.

She sighs softly against his skin, reveling in the sweet silence of their first real embrace. Her heart melts in satisfaction; she has wanted this for longer than she cares to admit. No one has ever held her like this before— striking the perfect balance between gentleness and protectiveness, neither holding her loosely nor gripping her possessively. She can't remember the last time she has felt this safe, this secure. In his arms she can feel the confirmation of his spoken confession of love for her, a love which is far too intense for it to be summed up in mere words. She can sense that intensity vibrating through every inch of his body, enveloping her and passing through her into her own heart. It's exhilarating, this feeling of knowing she is loved again—and loved more so than she has ever been loved before.

It is because of this that she doesn't want to move away, although she knows she probably should. She should leave, wash up, get some proper sleep in her own bed. But resting in Nikola's arms is the far more appealing option, and some part of her knows that if she is to leave now, she will be yearning for him for the rest of the night. So she stays where she is, nestled comfortably against his chest, and allows her eyes to drift closed once more as her mind settles into yet another peaceful dream.


	2. Focus

_Dear Readers,_

_Here's the second oneshot! This one takes place a few weeks after the first one. Hope you like :) The title is also a nod to "Sleepers," for anyone who notices those kinds of things ;)  
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_Best Regards from a Bookworm (and hoplessly obsessed Tesla fan),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P

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**II. Focus**

"Magnus?"

Helen jumps, startled by Will's voice breaking through her thoughts. "Oh! Will…yes…I'm sorry. What did you need?"

She watches the young protégé's eyebrows furrow in curiosity, and she instantly knows that in that head of his, he is carefully examining her current actions. "I just wanted to know—"

Will is suddenly cut off by the unexpected entrance of none other than Nikola Tesla, who sweeps elegantly through the doorway of Helen's office, his motions fluid but yet surrounded with an air of command and poise. He has always moved like that, but for some reason Helen always seems to find herself utterly captivated by the powerful impression he makes upon his surroundings whenever he enters a room.

Striding so swiftly Helen swears that he is somehow floating on air, he determinedly makes his way to her desk—but then suddenly draws to a halt upon catching sight of Will already standing in front of it.

"Oh," he says, sounding almost as if he is caught off-guard. "I see you are…currently engaged—I shall come back la—"

"What's the matter, Nikola?" Helen quickly interrupts, trying to ignore the knowing smirk that is slowly spreading across Will's face. If only the young man could be less observant at times like these, then she wouldn't have to worry as much about her composure…

"Nothing, really," Nikola answers, his voice unusually hesitant. "I just…" She watches with interest as his eyes dart in Will's direction and then return to settle on her. "I was wondering if you might join me for lunch…" He glances back at Will. "Whenever you're free, of course."

She can barely help the beaming smile that creeps onto her face at Nikola's proposal. Not to mention the heat flaming on her cheeks. She silently curses herself for being so ridiculously obvious and prays that her face isn't turning pink. "I would love to," she answers, in a voice that is just quavering with the slightest bit of embarrassment. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

That characteristic grin of Nikola's finally returns, and his eyes twinkle in satisfaction. For a moment, Helen can't even breathe, and she silently curses herself again for not being able to adequately control herself, especially when Will Zimmerman happens to be watching her from the sidelines.

"Good," Nikola replies, and without another word, he spins deftly on his heel and glides out of the room.

There is a moment of painfully awkward silence before Helen finally exhales the air caught her chest and turns to face Will once more. "I'm so sorry, Will, what was it that you wanted to ask me?"

Much to Helen's dismay, Will is grinning broadly as if he's just discovered one of his mentor's deep, dark secrets. "Not much," he answers, his smile growing even _wider_. "Just wanted to know if you've been feeling okay. You've been a bit…distracted...lately."

Helen's stomach flips in what could be horror, or anxiety…or perhaps it's just hunger. "I—I'm fine, Will," she manages to say, adding a small smile of her own for effect. "Honestly."

Will nods, but Helen can see that all-too familiar glint in his eyes that tells her she's lost the battle. "Okay. Just making sure," he says, that grin still plastered on his face. "Enjoy your lunch with Tesla." And with that, he quickly disappears out the door.

Helen heaves out a sigh of irritation. As soon as Will finds out anything, the rest are sure to follow, and she doesn't work well under constant scrutiny. Especially of _this _sort. Groaning in frustration, she stands from her seat and makes her way to the kitchen, hoping that after lunch she can regain her focus and get something productive done, instead of consistently wondering what Nikola Tesla tastes like.


	3. To Have and to Hold

_Dear Readers,_

_Thank you SOOOO much for all your lovely reviews!! They really make me happy, I don't know what else to say. I'm so glad you are all enjoying this little collection of stories...and I hope you enjoy this next installment. It does make a reference to the first two oneshots--as I said, they ARE supposed to progress in chronological order, although they are not necessarily directly related. This one is a bit more angsty than the first two; I wasn't intending that, but for some reason my brain tends to gear towards the angsty side of things when I don't have an exact plan of what I'm going to write :p Anyway, again, I hope you enjoy, and thanks once more for the reviews!_

_Best regards from a Bookworm (and hopelessly devoted Tesla fan),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P_

_PS: YES, the title of this one is taken from traditional wedding vows. TEEHEE ;)

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**III. To Have and to Hold**

Weeks have passed since that night they spent drinking wine and conversing in her office (and later, falling asleep on each other). But since then, she hasn't seen much of him. Oh, there's the occasional lunch or tea date of course, but other than that, Nikola Tesla has practically been nonexistent. Helen knows that he finds comfort in locking himself away in the lab she has lent him, in slaving over some unknown project of his. Like she herself, he cannot _bear_ to be left idle, with only thoughts of a convoluted past to mull over in the haunting silence of the present. But despite the fact that she knows that his lab is his safe haven—his own little sanctuary within hers—his distinct lack of presence has begun to trouble her.

It is this mounting concern that finally drives her to check up on him. Normally, she keeps out of the way of his work, since Nikola's perfectionism cannot afford any distractions, but her instincts are insisting that something is amiss, and that she needs to fix the problem. So she makes her way to the lab, striding quickly down the hallway as the steady _click-clacking _of her boots echoes against the walls of the corridor.

She's not surprised to find the door of the lab bolted shut—he has always felt most comfortable isolated from other people—but it worries her nonetheless. Part of her fears that he won't answer her firm knocking at all…but much to her relief, a voice replies a few seconds later. It's gruff, and clearly distracted, but it's _his _voice, and she is intensely glad to hear that he at least hasn't passed out from exhaustion.

"Not _now_—I am working on something very important," he half-growls from the other side of the door.

"Nikola," she answers, raising her voice a notch. "It's me, Helen."

A sudden silence settles over the separated pair as the last syllable of her name rolls off Helen's tongue. For a few agonizing moments she is completely terrified of what has happened to him, or of the possibility that he has chosen to ignore her entirely. But fortunately, she soon hears the muffled clicking noises of the bolts being undone, and then the door swings open to reveal a very haggard and unusually disheveled Nikola standing there with one hand fisted nervously in his unruly hair.

"Nikola!" she gasps in shock before she can stop herself. Oh, god, it's like New York all over again—

"I know, I _know_—I'm a wreck," he interjects loudly, backing into the room with his hands raised in defense, as Helen follows. "But mastering magnetic abilities is _not _as easy as it may seem, especially when every single metallic item in sight decides it wants to attach itself to you."

So _that's _what he's been up to.

But it still doesn't explain the massive assortment of wires and other instruments strewn about his table.

"And_ that_—" he continues, waving a pale, gaunt arm at the table as if he has just read her mind, "_that_ is going to be the bane of my existence."

Part of her wants to ask about just _what _exactly is going to be the bane of his existence, but her concern for his present condition outweighs her curiosity. His skin is so white that it appears almost translucent; his normally vibrant eyes are sunken into his skull, clouded by dark grey circles; his forehead and neck are glistening with hundreds of tiny beads of sweat; his cheeks are hollowed and his lips are chapped and tinged with blue; his now scrawny arms are trembling just the slightest bit, due to his frayed nerves—he is clearly _not _well, and Helen has to muster up all the strength she has within her to restrain herself from grabbing a hold of him and dragging him out of the lab. "Nikola, have you been out of this room _once_ today?" she asks, unable to mask the anxiety quavering in her voice.

"There have been plenty of days that I've spent entirely in my lab. Especially back in—"

"_Nikola_," she interrupts sternly, effectively cutting him off, "You _know _this isn't good for you."

He groans in exasperation and strides away from her to the opposite end of the table, where he picks up a handful of wires from its surface and begins toying with them. "Helen, _you _know that being idle is worse for me than anything else," he mutters, heaving out a heavy sigh. To her dismay, Helen notices how labored his breathing is as he just barely manages to utter his words without pausing for air.

"Nikola, you being on the verge of another nervous breakdown is worse than anything else, and you know it—"

"_Dammit_, Helen!" he suddenly bursts out, slamming a fist onto the table and causing Helen to jump backward, startled. "You don't _understand_—I _need _to finish…I can't…I can't…" His voice trails off as his upper body slumps over the table, heaving back suppressed sobs of desperation. Helen's heart plummets as she glimpses the tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes and spots the slight quivering of his bottom lip. In her mind's eye she sees the flashback of that fateful moment in the apartment all those weeks ago—the way his entire body quaked in terror, the way he could barely choke the words out of his mouth, the way she could hear the tears trembling in his voice although he didn't let them fall from his eyes…

She gulps as the memory fades away. She _hates_ seeing him like this—so broken, so irrationally terrified of something that shouldn't have to be feared.

"Nikola," she whispers softly, making her way to his side and laying a hand upon his shuddering arm. It's all she can do to keep herself from throwing her own arms around him and pulling him close to her. "It's all right. Just…" She doesn't know what to say to comfort him, to convince him that he doesn't have to feel trapped by whatever anxiety has consumed him this time.

In her frustrated silence she moves her hand to rest atop his, and gently caresses his cold skin with her fingers, as if this is the only thing she can think to do for him. The unexpected gesture surprises him, and his head turns suddenly to stare at the sight of Helen's hand covering his. Noticing his sudden movement, Helen lifts her eyes to his and catches his desperate gaze, silently pleading him to let go just this once.

A moment of unspoken communication passes between them, as the loving care in her eyes envelops the anxious confusion in his. And then, as if acquiescing to Helen's quiet plea, he pushes himself away from the table and stands upright, taking her hand with him and pulling her just a tiny bit closer.

He is still staring into her eyes.

Helen's breath hitches in her throat and all she can do is stare back, utterly entranced by the broken beauty of those steel blue eyes…until she suddenly comes to her senses and quickly redirects her gaze to their joined hands. She can feel Nikola's hand trembling beneath her fingers, so she gives it a tight squeeze of reassurance before looking back up at his face again and offering him a small smile.

"Come, let's go to my office," she nearly whispers. "I'll have the Big Guy bring up some dinner for us."

He nods meekly like a little child, allowing her to lead him for once. Helen squeezes his hand again and heads to the door, gently pulling him along behind her. He's hesitant at first, but once they clear the doorway, she feels his hand relax in hers. Her smile broadens and she moves to thread her fingers through his.

It's a small step in the right direction, but a step nonetheless. And for the moment, Helen finds herself feeling completely content.


	4. Angel

_Dear Readers, _

_I sincerely apologize for the long wait. There was...school. And snow. LOTS of snow. And school...and...well, it's here now, so be happy. This is the first little oneshot from Nikola's POV. I hope you enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day! Thanks SO MUCH for all the lovely reviews!_

_Best Regards from a Bookworm, _

_Miss Pookamonga ;-P _

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IV. Angel

_Andjeo. _Angel.

It's the first word that comes to his mind as he lays eyes upon the golden-orange glow cast upon her slumbering form by the fire's last embers.

Her swan-like neck is arched slightly to the side, her head tilting almost as if she is asking a question in her sleep, as her dark curls cascade down the back of her armchair to dangle above the tip of her elbow. Her cheeks are still rosy, flushed with the heat of the fireplace, as are her lips, which are parted barely an inch to allow tiny breaths of air to pass between them. Her stomach swells and falls with each said breath, simultaneously moving the arm laid casually across her torso in a steady up-and-down rhythm. Her eyes flicker behind her closed eyelids as she drifts from dream to dream in a world so far removed from her everyday reality.

To any other person, she might merely be the overly ambitious woman who has yet again worked herself into a stupor, but to him, she is the pure image of unscathed heavenly beauty. If she were to suddenly sprout luminous wings of feathery white, it would come as no surprise to him. In his eyes she is nothing less than the queen of all the angels, even in the state of being slumped quite ungracefully against the side of her chair.

He remains in this trance, gazing softly at the figure whose beauty has yet again seized a hold of his heart, until he realizes suddenly that perhaps it would be best if she didn't spend the entire night sleeping in such an awkward position. For a moment, he considers waking her, but then he catches another glimpse of her face. The weary lines of exhaustion are all-too evidently etched upon her soft features, and he feels a sudden pang of guilt at the thought of wrenching her away from her long-overdue and well-deserved rest.

So instead, he carefully approaches her and gently slips his arms around her, hooking one arm across her back and the other beneath her legs. In one swift but gentle motion, he scoops her off the chair and cradles her against him so that her head can lean lightly against his chest. He is surprised at how natural this kind of intimacy with her feels, at how perfectly her curves seem to fit against his body and how easily her head nestles into the fabric of his shirt. Reveling in the divine sensation, he slowly makes his way to the couch, almost unwilling to let the moment pass. But nevertheless, he finally lays her down upon the couch's surface, making sure to slip a few pillows beneath her head before letting go of her completely.

He allows his eyes to roam over her figure once more before he moves to kneel on the floor beside her. His deft fingers quickly work to unbuckle and slip her high-heeled shoes off her tired feet and place them neatly upon the carpet before he stands again to pick up the throw hanging off the back of the couch. Draping the blanket over her body, he carefully tucks the edges around her chin and over her toes, making sure that no part of her except her head is exposed.

He is about to step back and survey her again when a soft sigh issues from her throat, and she shifts her body to snuggle into the warmth of her blanket. His face cannot help but melt into a smile at her sudden contentment, and he stretches out a hand to brush his fingers gently against the smooth skin of her cheek. He traces the outline of her cheekbone with his thumb, moving his hand to tuck a few curls behind her ear before letting his palm come to rest against the curve of her jaw. At that, she unconsciously sighs yet again, her lips moving slightly this time to murmur something softly to the air.

"Nikola…"

His heart and his lungs suddenly freeze within his chest as a wave of some unidentifiable emotion surges throughout his entire body. For one long moment he is completely paralyzed, unable to breathe, move, or even think. It is only when she nuzzles her cheek against his palm that he snaps back to his senses. But even then he feels as if he is still living in a waking dream, hovering in the ethereal space between the imaginary and reality. His entire body prickles inside and out with a buzz of almost innocent joy not unlike the beginnings of a simple electrical current.

As the charge seeps through him, thrilling every nerve and fiber of his being, a much broader smile slowly creeps across his face until he is beaming vibrantly from ear to ear and glassy tears are glistening in his steel blue eyes. Leaning forward, he plants a tender butterfly kiss against her temple, lingering just a moment to feel the throb of her pulse against his lips.

"_Slatki snovi, moj andjeo_," he murmurs, before reluctantly pulling away.

_Sweet dreams, my angel._

He moves to put out the last remnants of the fire, then turns to face her again in the now dim, shadowed lighting of the room. Taking one last glance at her heavenly visage, he smiles one final tiny smile before turning and leaving his angel to sleep peacefully through the night.


	5. Breakfast In Bed

_Dear Readers,_

_I apologize for not getting this up sooner! But here it is at last. This one takes place the day after "Angel." Thanks again for all your lovely reviews!_

_Best regards from a bookworm (and obsessed Tesla fangirl),_

_Miss Pookamonga ;p_

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**VI. Breakfast In Bed**

She wakes up to the smell of tea wafting upon the cool air around her.

A bit dazed from her sleep, Helen blinks and eases herself upward into a sitting position, only to find that she is stretched across her office couch, still dressed in her now rumpled work clothes, with the couch throw draped across her body. Frowning in confusion, she rubs her eyes gently and turns her head this way and that as her eyes scan her office, now dimly lit by the soft blue light of early morn, for any clue as to how she arrived in her current position. Her gaze is suddenly drawn to the table beside her by the strong aroma of the tea tickling her nose.

She lets out a little gasp of surprise as she lays eyes upon the odd little sight before her. Resting upon the tabletop is her silver tea tray with a steaming kettle, a cream pitcher, a teacup, a saucer, a spoon, a cloth napkin, a plate of three small pastries, and six cubes of sugar all neatly arranged atop it as if someone has gone through great lengths to ensure that the presentation will appear precisely perfect. Stunned delight floods warmly through Helen's veins at the unexpected kind gesture, and she wonders briefly if perhaps Bigfoot decided to bring her tea up before she calls for him. But upon taking a glance at the clock upon the fireplace mantle, she realizes that the secret Good Samaritan cannot have been her gruff-but-loveable butler, for it is only half-past five. Although he has always been a morning person, this is still far too early for her friend to rise. No doubt he will still be nestled comfortably in his bed for another hour or so.

Her curiosity peaked, she will love nothing more than to solve this mystery, but she is unable to resist the temptation of the tea any longer. Swinging her legs out from under the makeshift blanket, she leans eagerly towards the tray and gently lifts the down-turned cup off the saucer—

—and pauses.

There is a tiny piece of faded brown paper folded and laid across the smooth porcelain surface of her saucer. Her curiosity once again aroused, Helen sets the cup down and gingerly lifts the paper in her slender fingers, unfolding it carefully…

And the minute her eyes meet the familiar handwriting scrawled upon the page, the realization suddenly sweeps over her, and she cannot help but allow a ridiculously giddy smile to tug upon her lips.

"_Although I doubt that the amount of comfort that such a poor excuse for a bed can provide is much, I sincerely hope you had a restful sleep. Do take care not to ruin that lovely neck of yours by leaving it bent in uncomfortably awkward positions against your desk chair. It would do no good if it happened to become stuck that way, for I do not think you would enjoy walking around with your pretty head cocked perpetually to the side. Also, it would make stealing kisses from you in the future a bit more complicated than it already is. So I suggest that if you feel the slightest bit drowsy while finishing up your work late at night, you take this as a sign to immediately head off to bed. We would both do much better for it._

_All that having been said, I entreat you to enjoy your breakfast._ Do kasnije, moja draga.

_PS: You look hot."_

Blushing furiously, she takes another look at the note before placing it back on the tray with an amused chuckle and a shake of her head. Then, taking the kettle in her hands, she settles down to pour herself a nice, hot cup of tea.


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